Turn away
by SpiltWords
Summary: Combeferre is a final year medical student at one of the biggest hospitals in Paris. He manages to get a placement on the cancer ward for a few months where he meets a peculiar girl, Eponine Thenarider. In his spare times he is part of a political group who officially meet on saturdays but unofficially meet most nights. TW: Cancer. Rated M, no sex or violence. Just cancer.


It had taken years of hard work, lots of stress and plenty of tears to get this far. He was in his final year of his medical degree, a degree that had allowed his to meet one of his closest friends, Joly and now, here he stood. A medical intern at one of the busiest hospitals in the whole of Paris. Joly had already graduated, a year above him and was now a Doctor at the same hospital. In their spare time, they were part of a protest group that met every Saturday evening in the Café Musain, but quite often they met most nights.

Tonight was one of those nights, but Combeferre was working. The graveyard shifts always seemed to be the worst. Most of the patients were sleeping, and those that weren't tended to be the ones that were the main concern to the doctors. He'd asked to experience the cancer ward and was spending his next few months working there whilst Joly worked in the emergency room.

He was currently on his break, he'd finished his sandwich and now was trying to pass the time. If he was allowed to skip breaks, he would. He wanted to dive into his work and often got lost in it. He'd done so much overtime his lecturers had suggests that perhaps for his final year he took time off and concentrated on his exams but he knew he didn't need the extra time. He would easily pass them. He had a knack for remembering the smallest of details and when it was a subject he enjoyed, he could easily read up on it for hours.

He ran his fingers through his hair as he glanced at the list of patients that had been scrawled out on the white board that hung on the ward. There were various different forms of cancer among the patients, the most prominent seemed to be Leukaemia.

He paused as he noticed one of the names on the board. It looked oddly familiar but he couldn't be too sure why. He'd treated plenty of people in his time here, it was probably someone he'd seen before or maybe even someone he went to school with. It was highly likely, Paris wasn't as big as everyone liked to think it was, he'd learned that quite soon after starting work here. He'd treated plenty of people that he had known at some point or other. From his old child minders dodgy nail to his ex girlsfriends sisters dislocated shoulder.

He shrugged it off as he continued walking, listening to the gentle snores that came from each of the wards as he passed. Each little room off of the main corridor housed four beds, most of which were currently occupied. He paused as he heard the quite squeak of wheels up a head of him and cautiously followed it, glancing around. No one should be up at –he checked his watch- one forty in the morning.

He tilted his head to the side as he watched curiously as a young girl wheeled herself out into the corridor, her dark brown hair falling down her back as she swore at the chair as she bumped into the desk instead of turning the corner. She tried again, only this time she managed to wheel herself with more force into the solid object.

It took him all of his strength not to laugh, instead he settled on a bemused smile as he went to intercept her, putting his hand on her shoulder before she could continue down the corridor or in fact, into the desk again. She jumped at the sudden touch, almost toppling the wheelchair. He grabbed hold of the handles before she could fall out, carefully settling the wheels back on the ground.

"Were you trying to give me a heart attack?" She demanded as she looked up at him, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously. She carefully glanced him over, noticing the stethoscope around his neck before she relaxed, at least he wasn't just some stranger. She wheeled the chair around to face him, raising her eyebrow.

"You looked like you were having steering trouble," he told her as he gestured at the desk less than a foot behind him. "I thought I'd come help before you woke the whole hospital."

She shrugged her shoulders lightly. "I've not had it long. They don't give you a driving test for one of these things do they?"

"If they did, you'd fail," he told her simply. "You really should be resting. It's highly important for your recovery. You see sleep helps the body to mend by-"

She ignored him as she glanced down at the wheelchair before furrowing her brow. "How do I get one of those electric ones?"

"Electric what?" He asked her, glancing around in his confusion. Wasn't he just talking about sleep?

"Wheelchairs!" She told him with an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes at him. "You know, chairs with wheels."

He smirked slightly and crossed his arms against his chest. She really was peculiar, if not slightly rude but he liked it. Most of the patients here just wanted to be left alone to sleep, it was nice to see one that still had some energy in them. "I don't know," he admitted. "I guess… you could buy one?"

She scoffed at him. "Do I look like I'm made of money? Come on Doc, I bet you can get me one. What will it take?"

"I have name," he told her, pointing to his name badge. She squinted as she tried to read it, leaning forward in the wheelchair. "Combeferre," he told her, giving her a small smile. "My names Combeferre."

She nodded her head as she leaned back in her wheelchair, crossing her arms against her chest. "My eye sight ain't so good anymore," she told him. "_Doctor Combeferre_," he pronounced his name slowly, dragging it over her tongue as she watched him.

He blushed from the extended attention to his name, running his fingers through his hair. "Do I get to know your name?"

"Are you my doctor?" She asked him, raising her eyebrow.

"I'm a medical student," he told her. "But I might be taking over some aspect of your care such as-"

"You talk a lot," she grinned. "I think I'd like you to be my doctor, you're not boring like the other doctors and you're nicer to look at."

He smiled slightly. "It would be my honour to be your Doctor…?"

"Eponine," she told him. "Just Eponine."

Of course, the name on the board.

* * *

"Stupid wire thing," Eponine gritted her teeth as she yanked at the IV that had been placed in her hand, trying to untangle it from her arm as she sat up in the bed. Whilst she'd been asleep she'd somehow managed to get herself completely wrapped up in it, which wouldn't be a problem if it didn't hurt.

"Let me," someone interrupted her, taking her by surprise. She raised her eyebrow as she glanced at the doctor that stood beside her bed, the same one that had stopped her a few nights before. With an annoyed huff she flopped back against the pillow and held out her arm for him, watching as he began to carefully untangle the wire with nimble fingers.

"I don't need it," she told him simply as she glared at it. If a look could make it disappear from her arm, that would be it but sadly it remained in her hand. She didn't miss the small smile that spread across his lips as he kept his eyes fixated on the task at hand.

"It's giving you medicine," he reminded her, just like every other doctor, nurse and whatever else in the place had before him. "It'll help with the pain."

"Yeah, well it hurts my hand," she told him stubbornly as she yanked her hand back to cross her arms tightly against her chest. At the same time Combeferre had taken hold of the tube, accidentally yanking it from her hand.

He hurriedly grabbed her hand as he took a dressing off the side and pressed it against the area. Blood was steadily seeping onto the white dressing as he raised her hand, holding it above her heart to try and slow the bleeding. She watched him wide eyed as he threw down the dressing on the side and grabbed another.

"That's a lot of blood," she told him, biting her lip. She was slowly turning pale as she watched the white begin to turn red as the minutes passed. He gave her an apologetic smile as he held the dressing down tightly. "Seriously, should it do that?"

He nodded his head in response as he concentrated, slowly peeling away the dressing and grabbed some cotton wool, wiping away the last trickle of blood. "It's normal," he told her. "The needle is meant to put the medicine into your bloodstream. When it got pulled out, it left a hole for the blood to come through-" He stopped himself as he noticed the sickly colour of her skin, quickly moving to grab a bowl off the side as she emptied the contents of her stomach. Maybe he could have began explaining that better.

He placed it down on the side before carefully laying her back against the bed, keeping a hold of her hand. "I think I'm going to have to put it in your arm this time," he told her as he looked at the wound on the back of her hand. "This needs cleaning and a dressing put on."

"No, oh no! No!" She protested as she tried to sit up but all it took was one of his hands on her shoulder to push her gently back down in the bed. "I'm not having another one of them _shoved _in me!"

"I won't shove it, I'll insert it," he told her half-heartedly as he placed her hand down on her lap, satisfied that most of the bleeding had stopped as he retrieved an antiseptic wipe from the set of draws in the corner of the room, that luckily, her bed was next to.

"You aren't shoving or inserting anything in to me!" She told him, her voice raising a few octaves as she stared at him, her eyes wide.

He smiled at her choice of words, apparently she had a nack for making things sound slightly crude as well. He couldn't help but think how much Courfeyrac and Grantaire, two of his closest friends, would like her should they ever get the chance to meet her. "It's essential that I give you another IV," he told her gently. "It'll make you feel better."

"I feel perfectly fine," she insisted, trying to pull her hand free as he began applying a dressing to the back of her hand, managing to keep her wrist still.

"I don't think you do," he told her. "You almost fainted at the sight of your own blood."

"Well wouldn't you if your own blood began pouring out of you hand?"

He shushed her as he pulled up a chair and grabbed another needle. "You'll feel a sharp scratch-"

"No! Don't!" She yelled, managing to wriggle her arm free and clutch it against her as she stared at him, chewing her lip.

He paused as he watched for a few moments before reaching his for her arm gently. "You're scared of needles, aren't you?"

"I am not!" She gasped as if it was the most scandalous suggestion in the world.

He grinned to himself as he sat back in the chair, raising his eyebrow at her. "Then let me do it."

"No!" She told him far too quickly. "I mean, I'm not a pin cushion!"

"It's just one little needle," he told her. "I'll even numb the area."

"Don't you have other patients to go bug?" She asked him quietly.

"I'm not bugging you, I'm treating you. Now hold out your arm."

She shook her head as she hugged it even closer. "I don't want to!"

"Eponine, you're making this much harder than it has to be."

She bit her lip as she looked down. "It hurts, okay?"

He frowned slightly. "I'll numb the area before I put the needle in. There's this gel-"

"That's not the point! It still hurts!" She told him.

He nodded his head slowly in understanding. "Well… would you rather have the pain in your hand or the pain everywhere else?"

She contemplated it for few moments. "I guess… my hand… it's not as bad…"

"If I don't put this needle in, you're going to have all of the other pain," he explained. "So, if you'll let me just put this needle in, you won't have to feel that."

She sighed as she nodded her head and held her arm out. She squeezed her eyes as she waited, feeling him put the cold gel on her wrist that made it tingle before she felt the sharp scratch. After a few moments she heard him stand up. "You can open your eyes now."

"Is it done?" She asked him quietly, slowly opening one eye to peer up at him.

He nodded his head as he smiled at her. "Don't pull this one out."

"It was your fault!" She protested as he helped her sit back up. Most of the colour had returned to her face and she no longer looked like she was going to faint on him.

"I have other patients to go see," he told her apologetically as he headed back towards the corridor. "But you pulled your hand away."

"Wait!" She called after him as she sat up a bit more, peering after him. "Will you come back in a bit? I like your company."

He hesitated as he glanced at her, his eyes meeting her hopeful brown ones before he nodded his head. "If that's what the patient wants."

"It is," she smiled faintly.

* * *

By the end of the week Combeferre had grown accustomed to all of his patients. Each one of them had a particular way that they wanted to be treated and he didn't mind. He liked listening to some of the stories that they had to tell him, whether it was about their families or friends or in some cases, stories that they had made up of the top of their heads, stories about dragons and fairies and everything in between. He had learned that most of the patients on the ward were young. They weren't quite young enough to be treated as children and they weren't quite old enough to be classed as adults.

Eponine, it turned out, was the eldest on the ward. It was only a few weeks until her eighteenth birthday. The youngest of the patients there had only just turned sixteen, he had been diagnosed with terminal leukaemia, they'd given him only a few months to live but his parents still held on hope. They were determined that chemotherapy could cure him. It was painful to watch them go through it, denying that there son didn't have long to live.

It was visiting time on the ward, family and friends crowded around the beds, making it near impossible to move. This tended to be the time that the doctors and nurses caught up with their paperwork and files, making sure that everything was filled in. However, Combeferre had done his hours earlier whilst he had a few moments, meaning he had time to check in on his patients and speak with their visitors, answering any questions that they had.

He frowned as he reached the small room where Eponines bed was. The other three beds were surrounded by visitors, talking in low voices as to not interrupt the other patients. Eponine, however, was alone. She was laid in her bed on her side, staring out of the window as she watched the drops of rain run down it.

He quietly walked over to her, sitting himself in the chair beside her bed. "You haven't had any visitors since I've been on this ward," he noted quietly.

She forced a small smile as she rolled her eyes. "Maybe you need a change of career. You're a good detective."

He frowned slightly. "It says in your file that you have family, they're your next of kin."

"It'd be a miracle if they ever came to this place," She muttered, more to herself than the medical student.

"Why do you say that?" He asked her gently.

"It's none of your business."

"It's essential for a patient to have a good support network in order to recover fully," he replied. "It _is_ my business."

She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, careful not to pull at the IV. "I'm tired," she told him quietly. "I think I want to be alone."

He frowned as he watched her before nodding his head. He was only a medical student, he wasn't her friend. He had to remind himself that. It was her business and not his. If her family chose not to visit her, then it was her business. Maybe it was her that didn't want them here, not the other way around. He stood up and cleared her throat but she didn't bother to look at him. "You know where I am if you need me."


End file.
